I'm Dying 5: The Chickens Are Attacking!
by Eileen
Summary: Book 5 in the I'm Dying series! New students at the Institute bring new risks . . . Epilogue up now! Thanks for reading!
1. This Isn't Good News

I'M DYING 5: THE CHICKENS ARE ATTACKING!

(Disclaimer: Marvel owns most of these people. But you already knew that.)

Fall brought a batch of new students to the Institute. In addition to Nathan Banner, who would not be attending Bayville High, and Scott's brother Alex, there were eight new faces in the halls. Hank McCoy had signed on to the teaching staff, to help control the mob.

  
Little did he know that it was his medical skills that would be needed soon . . .

"Ah said don't touch my hairbrush!" Rogue snapped at one of the newbies.

"I didn't know that was yours!" Tabitha "Boom-Boom" Smith lied.

"Ah hope that's the truth,'cause if it's not Ah'll--"

"You'll what, Too-Much-Makeup-Girl?"

Realizing things were about to get very ugly very fast, Sam "Cannonball" Guthrie stepped between them. "Tab, ya gotta learn to stay out of other people's rooms!"

Then he turned to Rogue and said, "Rogue, ya need to put your stuff away when you're done with it."

"Okay." Tabitha and Rogue sighed simultaneously.

"Hate to interrupt, but we're waitin' for ya in the Danger Room, or did you forget about training for today?"

The three kids all looked at Wolverine. "Sorry."

They followed him to the Danger Room,where Scott Summers was leading one team in an obstacle-course challenge, while Jean Grey had another engaged in target practice.

Roberto DaCosta, a. k. a. Sunspot, and Ray Crisp, better known as Berzerker, were facing off against what could legitimately be described as the most fearsome attack robots they'd ever set eyes on.

"Where's Bobby?" asked Jean. "I told him not to miss training!"

"I don't know," Wolverine grumbled, "but when I find him . . ."

"Ah'll go get him," Sam said. So he went up to Bobby's room.

 Wolverine looked around. "I didn't tell the rest of you to take a break!"

Up in Bobby Drake's room... the kid was still in bed.

  
"Hey!" Sam called out. "We're waitin' for you down there!"

"I don't think I can get up," Bobby groaned. "I feel all hot inside."

  
Then Sam saw his face.

"On second thought," Sam said, "stay here. Ah'll go get help."

Scott looked up as Sam told him,"We'd better get a doc up here. Bobby's sick."

"How sick?"

  
"Ah think you better see for yourself . . ."

I don't like the sound of that ,Logan thought.

They came back down a few minutes later. "All right," Logan said, "as of now we're officially under quarantine. I want everyone to come to the Medical Ward at once so we can check you over."

  
"Does this mean we don't have to go to school?" Jamie asked.

Logan just rolled his eyes. This was gonna be a long day.

(More to come! Don't worry, it isn't serious! Hint: read the title.)


	2. The Brotherhood of Constant Diseases

It wasn't until that they actually got to the Med Lab that the kids found out what was going on . . .

"_Chicken pox?!!_" everybody blurted at once when the diagnosis came in.

"How many here have had it?" asked Jean.

There were fewer hands up than she had hoped for: Scott, Kurt, Sam, Ray, and Roberto.

Then she noticed a few people were missing . . . Well, more than a few, actually.

"Where's Rogue? And Amara and Tabitha?"

"They're sick," Kitty said.

Jean did **not** like the sound of that. "You mean it's **already** starting to spread?"

"Yeah."

"Where's Marco? Where's our healer? He should be on top of this."

But Marco had his hands full trying to take care of himself. Unfortunately, his healing powers didn't work on his own body. He'd already been admitted to the Medical Ward after Kitty found him lying facedown in the upstairs hall, with a temperature higher than Lincoln's approval rating after the Gettysburg Address.

Not only was he sick, he was very sick. He could barely stand up, and his vision was seriously blurred. It looked like he had some kind of complications.

"This isn't good." Professor Xavier said as he checked Marco's temperature.

"You're telling me." Marco replied. "My stomach feels like it's trying to come straight up . . ."

"I hope no one else gets it this bad," said Kitty.

"I hope so too."

Rogue did not like the idea of everyone being sick.

Again.

_Why does this keep happening to us? What'd we do? _It was like someone had a vendetta against mutants or something.

Over at the Brotherhood house . . .

"AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!"

"What's Prince Perfect yelling about now?" Lance grumbled.

"Who knows, yo?"said Toad.

Then they saw Pietro's face...

"Look at me! **Look** at me!" Pietro moaned. "I have a date tonight! How can I go anywhere looking like this?"

"Uh, I hate to tell you this, Pie," Toad began, "but . . . you're not goin' anywhere."

"Why? Just cause I have a few zits?"

"They're not zits," Lance said.

Pietro didn't like the sound of that. "What are they, then?"

"Looks like chicken pox," Toad said. "Lucky I already had them, or we'd **really** be in trouble."

"I had 'em too," said Fred.

Lance looked uncomfortable. "I didn't."

"We're in trouble," Toad said.

Wanda came in, took a look at Pietro's face, and burst out laughing.

"If I wasn't so sick," Pietro said, "I'd punch your lights out."

"What? You mean someone didn't draw those on you with a Magic Marker?" She took a closer look.

. . . and sure enough, the spots were real.

"Somebody better call Dad," she said, knowing this thing could spread very easily, very fast.

They always did. Maybe they should call themselves The Brotherhood of Constant Diseases. Or the Bayville Germ Warfare Test Subjects' Dormitory.

"What should we do?" asked Fred.

"Call a doctor?" Wanda suggested.

"Where do we find one at this hour?" Pietro complained.

Lance remembered the doctor who lived next door. "Wonder if he's home?"

"Let's call and find out."

Dr. Ryan was just getting in the door when the phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Doc, we got us a situation here. You gotta come now!" Toad said breathlessly.

"What's the matter?"

"My face!" Pietro moaned in the background. "My beautiful, beautiful face!"

Toad sighed and told the doctor, "He's got chicken pox."

Dr. Ryan seemed surprised. "You mean he's never had it before?"

"Guess not."

"What about the rest of you?"

"Everyone's had 'em but Lance."

"Don't give 'em to me!" Lance pleaded.

"You probably got them from Kitty and gave them to me!"

"Hey! Leave Kitty out of this!"

"Well, how else could it have gotten in here?!!" Pietro demanded.

"You always blame Kitty! Even when it's not her fault!"

"It's always Kitty's fault!"

"No it's not!"

"All right, you two!" Wanda stepped between them. "Both of you just shut up!"

"HE STARTED IT!" they both shouted at once.

"I don't CARE who started it!" Wanda shouted in exasperation.

Suddenly, Lance threw up all over the place.

"See?" Pietro said. "He brought Kitty's lousy germs into the house and now we're all doomed!"

"If I wasn't sick to my stomach, Maximoff, I'd kill you for that." Lance growled.

"Uh, Doc . . ." said Toad nervously.

"I'm on my way."

"Thanks, Doc." Toad put the phone down and said, "Don't kill each other till he gets here."


	3. It Gets Worse

I'M DYING 5:

THE CHICKENS ARE ATTACKING!

Back at the mansion . . . Kitty felt like she might be getting sick herself.  
She couldn't remember if she'd already had it.

Just to be safe, she went down to the Medical Lab.

"What's happening?" Kitty asked Evan Daniels.

"I dunno. You haven't had it, right?"

"Uh,no."

"Me neither."  
"We're in trouble, aren't we?"  
"What about the adults?" Evan asked.  
Kitty hadn't thought of that. "I guess we'd better ask them . . ."

Problem was, they were busy keeping track of the growing number of kids who'd gotten chicken pox.

The quarantine didn't seem to be working. Already there had been three new cases in the past hour . . . and more were on the way.

It wasn't until the last of the three had been admitted to the Medical Ward that the students and staff at the Institute realized just how serious thing were.

Two more had serious complications: Jamie Madrox was running a high fever, and Rogue had some kind of stomach trouble.

"Have you noticed," Hank McCoy asked, "how all these new mutant diseases seem to be cropping up at once?"

"Ah sure have," Rogue groaned. "How do we get rid of 'em?"

"Good question," said Doctor Banner. "If someone is behind this, they'll just keep making more and more till they get it right."

Nobody liked the sound of that.

"You mean someone out there's practicing biological warfare on us?" said Jean.

"It's possible. There have been too many outbreaks for it to be a coincidence," Xavier told her.

Just then a thought struck her. "Has anyone been up to see Nathan at all?"

"Not in the last hour, no."

"Well, don't you think someone should let him know what's going on?"

"Yeah, but how?" Scott asked.

"Have one of the immune students run up and get him."

Seconds later, Scott was trying to find the right door.

"Just great," he muttered to himself.

Then he heard the "Rugrats" theme coming from behind one of the closed doors. It was Nathan's favorite show.

"Nathan?"

The TV sound went off. "Scott?"

"Can you open the door? I need to talk to you."

Nathan opened the door. "What is it?" he asked. He was getting better at human speech.

"We've got a bit of a medical emergency...."

"A what?"

"A lot of people are sick."

"Why?"  
"We don't know."

That scared Nathan. "Will they die?"

"We hope not. Professor Xavier is doing all he can to get the virus under control."

"Can I help?"  
"Well," said Scott, "the thing that would help us most is if you came down to Quarantine with the rest of us."  
"Where's that?"  
"I'll show you."  
"Does it have a TV?"  
Scott smiled. Despite his size, Nathan was still a child. "Yeah, bring your Rugrats tapes."

Hank had posted a white board outside the Med Lab with the names of the afflicted. For right now, he didn't need to add any more names, but the list was plenty long as it was.

Half the school was infected. The quarantine wasn't really helping; sooner or later everyone who hadn't already had it would get it.

Why did the Institute and the Brotherhood keep getting so many viruses?

That reminded him . . .  
"Has anyone checked if this is affecting the Brotherhood?"  
"I could call them," Kitty offered.  
Rogue snorted. "Ya mean, call **Lance**."

Kitty blushed. "Well, so what? You guys don't understand Lance at all! He's really sweet and nice, deep-down--"

All of a sudden, alarms started going off.

Lance used his powers to open (all right, destroy) the front gates, and anything else that got in his way.

"What is **with** that guy?" Scott grumbled.

"Should I send out a welcoming party?" asked Jean.

The doorbell rang. "Guess not."

"Where's Kitty?"asked Lance when they met him at the door.

"She's in quarantine," Scott said. "We're all in quarantine. There's a contagious disease on the premises."

"Oops," Lance said. "I just wanted to bring her her homework."

"Next time send it Federal Express." Needless to say, Logan was NOT in a happy mood.

"Sorry! Geez, try to do a good deed . . . can I at least see her?"

"Hang on a sec..."

A few minutes later, Kitty came out. "Lance? What are you doing here?"

"I just came to drop off your homework. Why is everyone acting like it's a crime?"

"Maybe because you **broke in**?"

"Oh, that." Lance looked guilty. "The password you gave me didn't work, and no one was answering the intercom, so . . . I kinda took matters into my own hands."

"We're under quarantine!"

"Yeah, why? What contagious disease? It's not something like Virus 10 again, is it?"

"Uh, no. It's chicken pox."

"Oh, that's okay, then. I already got it."

"Oh, that's good. Maybe you can help us take care of the people who do."

"No, you don't understand. I've got it now."

Kitty looked at his face, where a couple of spots had popped up. "You've got it? So why did you go out of the house?"

"I wanted to see you."

"I think you'd better get in here."

"Why?"

"Why? Because you're sick! You need help!"

"I'm not that sick! I feel okay right now, that's why I went out."

"Lance!"

"Maybe I'm getting over it."

Kitty could not believe it. "Stop being macho and get in here!"

"All right, all right! Geesh...."

Lance found himself on an examining table in the Medical Ward, being poked and prodded.

"OW!"

"Sorry."  
"Why do you have to take my blood anyway?"

"To see how serious your infection is."

"How bad could it be?"

Hank looked serious. "Thousands of children die every year from chicken pox-related complications. We have at least three serious cases right here. I don't want to take any chances."

"Good point."Lance said.

After what seemed like a long time, Hank finally said, "Looks like you've got it."

Lance rolled his eyes. "I **knew** that. How bad?"

"I would classify this," Hank said, "as a moderate case, with a risk of becoming severe."

"How bad is that?" Lance had a feeling he wouldn't like the answer.

"Pretty bad, actually."

"Bad as in a hangnail or bad as in we're all going to die?"

"Well, I wouldn't say you're going to die, but don't plan on leaving here for a few days. Maybe even a few weeks."

"Oh boy."

At least he'd get to spend time with Kitty. When he wasn't barfing his guts out, that is.

Meanwhile, back at the Brotherhood house . . . Wanda was busy taking care of Pietro, who was actually quite sick. "Where the $!# is Lance?" she snapped.

"How should I know?"

"You have no idea where he is?" She had no patience for idiots today. Pietro kept asking her to rub his tummy. Like she'd be caught dead touching him.

"I thought he was sick," said Fred. "Isn't he in his room?"

Wanda rolled her eyes. "I **looked** in his room, Freddy! I looked all **over** the house, when I wasn't playing nursemaid to my stupid brother, who by the way is acting like a two-year-old!"

"I just wanted my tummy rubbed," Pietro moaned piteously.

"Rub it yourself!" Wanda stomped down the stairs and picked up the phone. But who could she call?

Then it hit her . . .

"Xavier Institute," answered Kitty Pryde.

"Hi. By any chance, is Lance over there?"

"Yeah, he is. Want me to put him on?"

"Oh, yes, I'd like to hear him explain this one," Wanda said . . . as she fought to keep herself from barfing on the phone.

"Hello?"

"Hi..."

Wanda barely heard Lance's voice. She looked at her arms and saw the spots popping up. They seemed to be everywhere at once...

_Didn't I have this? I thought I had this._

Apparently not. Her head was starting to throb and her stomach rolled over and over like a giant rubber ball.

"Hello? Wanda?" Lance said, as Wanda went into a coughing fit.

This wasn't looking good at all.

It was as if somebody was deliberately trying to infect them all with a severe--possibly even fatal--virus. But who would want to do that? And how?

And most importantly,why?

(A/N: Sorry this has been so long in coming. My co-author has very limited computer access, so updates will be slow, but I'll do my best to get them out as soon as I can.)


	4. Further Complications

The only sound Lance heard from the other end of the phone was a thud as Wanda hit the floor. "WANDA!"

"What happened?" Kitty asked him.

"I don't know. One minute she was there, and the next . . . she just keeled over. I think she's got it."

"Oh, great. Somebody go over and get her. And anybody else at the Brotherhood house who's sick."

"The only other one I know of is Pietro. Everyone else has already had it . . . I think. Not too sure about Mystique."

"What about Magneto?"

"We haven't heard from him in a while. Last time he called, he said he was investigating rumors of a bioweapons lab in central Asia. That was weeks ago, and since then, not a peep. You don't think—"

Kitty shook her head. "Probably not. If he were dead, we would have heard about it, or something."

The X-Van, with Scott and Lance on board, drove off toward the Brotherhood house. "So how many passengers can we expect?"

"Just Pietro and Wanda, as far as I know." Lance's stomach lurched as they went around a sharp curve. He'd been feeling nauseous all day, even though that wasn't supposed to be a symptom of chicken pox. But quite a few of the mutants who'd had it remembered having stomach pains, nausea, and even back spasms. That couldn't be normal, he said to Scott.

"Yeah, when I had it, I kept throwing up all over the place. I think it must affect mutants differently." They parked in front of the Brotherhood house and got out, Lance a bit shakily. Once he had recovered a bit, they went up onto the porch and rang the doorbell.

Presently the door opened. "What are you doin' here?" asked Fred.

"We've come to pick up Pietro and Wanda and bring them to the Institute for treatment," Scott explained.

Fred didn't know what to do, but Mystique did.

"We are not interested in your charity!" She started to slam the door, but Lance stuck his foot in the crack.

"Look, we're not going to get help any other way. It's not like we can afford the hospital bills." He then turned to Scott. "Wanda's room is up the stairs, first door on the right. Pietro's on the other side of the hall. Need help?"

"You're asking if I need help, when you're the one who's sick?" Scott shook his head. "If you can manage it, sure."

Wanda wasn't in her room; Scott and Lance found her in Pietro's room, crouched on the floor. Pietro was lying on the bed, barely conscious.

"What are you doing here?" Wanda demanded, seeing Scott in her territory.

"We're taking you back to the Institute to get treatment. What's wrong with him?"

"I don't know. He just collapsed all of a sudden and started breathing funny. His temperature is, like, a hundred and ten! He was okay just yesterday! How could this have happened so fast?"

"I don't know," Scott admitted. "I hope we can help." He lifted Pietro up off the bed and carried him to the X-Van, Wanda following along behind them. Mystique wisely said nothing as they drove off, but privately thought something suspicious was going on.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Back at the Institute, a problem had arisen.

"No, Nathan hasn't had it," Dr. Banner was saying, "but I'm sure he's immune to most diseases. No, the problem is me."

"How so?" Logan asked.

"I've never had chicken pox."

"That could be a problem," said Hank.

"Tell me about it. You know how you were saying that mutants tend to lose control of their powers when they're ill?"

"Yes, but you're not a mutant."

"How do you know I didn't have a latent mutant gene that was activated by the gamma ray explosion?"

"He's got a point," Logan said.

"So what you're saying is, you could be susceptible to the virus yourself, and if you do get it, you could turn into the Hulk?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying." Banner folded his hands in front of him. "The only solution is to secure me and Nathan in the Danger Room until the virus runs its course."

"Now wait a minute—"

"Logan," Hank interrupted. "It does make sense. It's the only secure facility we have. You wouldn't want a rampaging, delirious Hulk running amok, would you?"

"Well, when you put it like that—"

"Then it's settled. We'll start getting some food and supplies together. Jean should be in on this."

"Why Jean?"

"She's been getting in some practical experience in preparation for studying genetics in college."

"This is more practical experience than anyone needs," Logan sighed.

Jean was busy helping take care of the sick students when she got Hank's intercom call. "Yes? What is it?"

"We have a situation concerning Dr. Banner that I thought you should know about . . . it seems he's never had chicken pox."

"He hasn't?" Jean suddenly realized the implications of this news. "Do we need to keep him sedated?"

"No, he says he'll be all right as long as he's secured in the Danger Room. I need you to help me gather supplies and get them settled as soon as possible."

"Them?"

"Nathan's going to be with him. He's probably safe from the virus, but who knows for sure?"

"Good point. How much will they need?"

"At least a week's worth. Bring it down right away."

Jean gathered up as much as she could and went straight to the Danger Room, where she saw Dr. Banner setting up two cots and what looked like an entertainment center. "Are you planning on having a film festival?"

"Nathan needs his videos to keep him occupied. It's going to be a long week. If anything happens to me . . . I don't want him to panic."

"Maybe you won't get it."

"Maybe, but given what's happened around here in just the last twenty-four hours, I wouldn't put money on that bet. You brought the medical kit?"

"Right here," Jean said, setting down a black duffle bag marked FIRST AID. "Everything should be in here that you'll need."

"Looks like it. Maybe even some stuff I won't need."

"You never know. The complications are getting really strange now."

"How strange?"

"Rahne's seeing faces in the ceiling tiles, and she swears they're talking to her."

"You're kidding."

"Anything goes, it seems. Kurt's trying to help us take care of everyone, but there aren't enough immune students to help out."

"I wish I could help you," Dr. Banner sighed, "but it's too much of a risk. I don't know what I might do if I got sick . . ."

"Maybe we should call that doctor who lives next door to the Brotherhood."

"Doctor Ryan? I suppose it's worth a try."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

By the time Dr. Ryan got to the Institute, Pietro and Wanda had been set up in separate rooms. Pietro had come around, and he was not happy.

"Are you people just gonna LEAVE me here? I want some attention!"

"When don't you?" Wanda muttered.

"I see you two are getting along as well as ever," said Dr. Ryan, entering Pietro's room.

"It's all her fault!"

"Oh, shut up!"

"Both of you quiet down. I need to take a look at you."

Dr. Ryan reached into his bag and pulled out a digital thermometer.

"What's that for?"

"I want to check your temperature," the doctor said.

Pietro would NOT sit still, however . . . and the look on his face amused Wanda.

"You're such a wuss, Pietro." she razzed him.

"I AM NOT!" It was times like this that he really hated Wanda.

"Oh, give it a rest, drama king," Wanda sighed.

"Who are you calling drama king, Miss Hex-Everything-In-Sight-Just-Because-I-Feel-Like-It?"

Dr. Ryan silenced them both with a look. "Wanda, I don't think you understand--"  
Suddenly she understood all too well . . . as she felt her knees buckle and vomit rise up in her throat.

"Now who's laughing, sis?"

"That'll do, Pietro." Dr. Ryan chided him.

"But she's always making fun of me--"  
"That's not right, either. Anyway, you two will be quarantined together for a while, so you'd better learn to get along."

"I guess you're right." Pietro sighed.

Wanda was too busy being sick to feel any sense of triumph.

Dr. Ryan handed them both Tylenol capsules and told them, "I'll be back to check on you later. In the meantime . . ."

"Yeah?" they both groaned simultaneously.

"Try to behave yourselves."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Nathan's videos were really starting to get monotonous.  
"Can't we watch something else, Nate?"

Nathan looked surprised and a bit disappointed. "I want Rugrats!"  
"I know, buddy, but you've seen this one five times already."

"Well then," Nathan replied, "how about . . . Dora!" He dug through the stack of tapes until he found his favorite Dora tape.  
"Fine." Dr. Banner was starting to feel really tired and achy. _Oh, no, don't tell me . . ._  
He got up off the floor and went to where the medical bag was laying, unzipped, on a makeshift table. Rooting around in it, he found a thermometer. He waited for the results while Nathan watched his tape.

Nathan was just about to say "Swiper, no swiping!" when Dr. Banner took the thermometer out of his mouth and read it.

100.2.  
_Oh, no . . . _This was the last thing he needed right now. He'd have to let them know upstairs. But how to do it without making Nate nervous?

"Nathan," he said, "I seem to be feeling a little under the weather."

"Huh?"  
"I think I'm getting sick."

Nathan wasn't sure how to take that. "What should I do?"  
"Just sit and watch Dora. I'll be okay."

Nathan hoped that was true. "Okay, Dad."  
He lumbered back to the TV and went back to his show.

_The resilience of the young . . ._

_XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

All the sick students had been put in one wing, to make it easier for the immune students, who were taking care of them. Meanwhile, those who had never had it were kept in isolation so they wouldn't get it.  
At least that was the theory.

In practice, though, things didn't quite turn out that way . . .

"We've got a bit of a problem here," said Jean Grey to Professor Xavier.

"What's wrong?"  
"It seems our precautions didn't work after all."

Xavier didn't like the sound of that at all. "Who's got it now?"

Consulting a sheet of paper on her desk, Jean said, "It's Scott."

"But I thought he said he already had it!"

"Either he was mistaken, or . . ." Jean didn't like to consider the second possibility, but she voiced it anyway. "Or the virus has mutated into an entirely new form."

"I hope not," Xavier said. "How bad is his condition?"

"He's pretty uncomfortable, but it doesn't seem that serious. Yet."

Xavier sighed. "Move him to the Medical Ward with the other sick students. Keep an eye on the others who are at risk."

Just then, the intercom buzzed. Jean went to it and pressed the button. "Hello?"

"More bad news, I'm afraid, Jean . . ."

"What's wrong now?"

"We think Kitty may have it now. And Roberto's just been brought in."

This was bad news. She knew for sure that Roberto had been one of the immune students. If that was true . . . then no one was safe.

And while she was dealing with that, Dr. Banner called her from the Danger Room with even worse news.

"Oh, no, not you too!"

"I'm afraid so."

"What about Nathan?"

"I'm not sure about him. He could be at risk. I'm keeping an eye on him for now, but I'm not sure how much longer my condition will allow me to do that."

"I'll turn on the security cameras and keep an eye on you both from up here."

"Thanks. Could you send down some more tapes?"

With a smile, Jean asked, "Anything in particular?"

"Just anything he hasn't seen a hundred times already."

Jean looked around. "There's some _Blue's Clues_ tapes here. Are those okay?"  
"Yes, those are fine. Just nothing too loud."

"Got it."

Just when Jean thought things were settling down, the intercom went off again. "Yes?"

"I'm disfigured for life! I won't ever be able to show my face in public again . . ."  
"Pietro, is that you?" Jean said.

"How'd you guess?"

_Pietro's such a drama king,_ Jean thought. "Get a grip, Pietro . . ."

"Does the fact that I'm dying mean nothing to you people?"  
"You are **not** dying."  
"How do you know?"

Rolling her eyes, Jean explained: "Nobody who moans as loudly as you do could possibly be dying."

In the other room, Wanda was trying to ignore him. He could be a real pain in the butt sometimes.

And he was twice as bad when he was sick.  
And **four** times as bad when she was sick, too.

Now they were **both** sick, which meant . . . Oh, it hurt her head to do the math.

In fact, her head hurt, period.

"What's your problem **now**, you little weasel?" she shouted in the general direction of her brother's room.

"Who are you calling a weasel?" Pietro groaned.

"You, you weasel! Shut up and let me die in peace!"

"Nobody's dying," Jean said, but they were too busy arguing to listen to her.

"But I need help!" Pietro moaned. "I've got a stomach ache..."

"Maybe it's because you haven't eaten anything in about twelve hours?" Wanda said. "Go make some soup or something. Leave me alone."

"Why are you being so mean to me?"  
"Why are **you** being such a baby?"

Jean sighed and buried her head in her hands. Why did this have to happen to her? Why couldn't she get a job in, say, appliance repair or something? Appliances never talked back!

"Both of you," she said firmly, "get back into bed and get some rest. I'll bring you some food as soon as I can."

"Can you rub my tummy?"

"Shut up about your tummy, you idiot!"

"No, you shut up!"

Was it too late, Jean wondered, to transfer to a college in Antarctica?


	5. The Culprit Revealed

"Shut up!"

"No, **you **shut up!"

"Why don't you both shut up??" grumbled Magneto in frustration.

The twins both jumped out of bed at the same time. "DAD!"

"Honestly," Magneto sighed, "you two will be the death of me."

Pietro said, "It's **her** fault!" at the exact same time that Wanda said, "It's **his** fault!"  
"I'm not interested in whose fault it is. I just want you two to settle down and get along so you can get better."

_Easier said than done_, Wanda thought cynically.

"You two behave yourselves," Magneto said. "I have to go talk to Charles."

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Down in the Danger Room, Nathan was pacing around, not sure what to do. "Dad, are you okay?"

"Not really, Nate. What's the matter? Do you feel sick?"  
"I don't know . . ."

Which was true, in a sense. Having never been sick before, Nathan had no idea what it felt like.  
"Does anything hurt?" his father asked him. "Do you feel hot? Cold? Dizzy?"  
Nathan didn't know what dizzy meant, but he said, "A little hot."

"Come here for a second."

It was tough to feel anything through Nathan's thick, rubbery skin, but Dr. Banner was definitely picking up signs of a fever.

There were no spots on him anywhere, though.

"Jean, it's Bruce again."

"What is it?"  
"I think Nathan's sick now."  
"Oh, no . . ."  
"The problem is, he can't tell me what's wrong with him."  
"He won't tell you?"  
"He **can't** tell me. He doesn't know how. I thought if you could come down here . . ."

Before he'd even finished the sentence, Jean was on her way to the danger room. This was very, very bad. If the virus, whatever it was, could penetrate Nathan's formidable physiology, then it was definitely not everyday run-of-the-mill chicken pox.

Nathan was sitting on the floor, wondering why he felt so queasy.

"Hi, Nathan," Jean said. "Your dad tells me you're not feeling so well."  
"Uh huh."

Jean sat down beside him. "Can you show me what's wrong?"  
"How?"  
"If I . . . look inside you, I can see what's wrong with you. Will you let me in?"

"OK."

Jean placed her hand on Nathan's forehead . . .

WHAM! With almost no resistance at all, she found herself inside his head. It was like crashing through a brick wall, only to find it made of Styrofoam. Sure enough, she found a way into his perceptions of his physical state.

_It's okay,_ she "told" him. _I'm here to help you. I just want to know what's wrong with you._

_I feel hot . . ._

Jean made a mental note to check his temperature as soon as she could. _Can you show me what else you're feeling?_

A flood of images swept over her suddenly . . . almost faster than her mind could keep track of them.

The predominant image was of a man--Jean couldn't see his face, but she could sense that Nathan was very afraid of him--doing something that involved a needle in sensitive areas. Michaela was always in the background, trying to sound soothing and failing.  
What did this mean? Was it something that had really happened to him, or some kind of dream, or what?

"No more! No more!" Was it Nathan's voice, or her own? She was suddenly shocked out of his head, and found herself staring into his terrified eyes.

"Don't do that again!" he said. "Don't make me see him again!"

"Who? Who is he?"

Nathan just shook his head and turned away.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Upstairs, things were getting worse. A lot worse.

There were only about three people who didn't have it now, and those who had it were getting worse. It was clear that this was no ordinary chicken pox.

"Clearly," Hank told Xavier, "this is an engineered virus, specifically targeted at mutants."

"Engineered? By whom?"

"I'm not sure. There are several anti-mutant groups springing up all over the country, but most of them aren't more than message board communities yet. It could be an individual working on his own, but . . ."

"But Marco Sandoval is dead. So is Michaela."

"So the question is, has someone picked up where they left off?"

"There's only one way to find out . . ." Xavier said.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

"You want me to **what**?" Nick Fury wasn't quite sure he understood what Professor Xavier was asking him.

"I want you to check the S.H.I.E.L.D. files for any information on weaponized chicken pox viruses."

"That's what I thought you said. Why?"

"We believe that someone, possibly connected with Michaela Sandoval, is using biotechnology to attack mutants."

Fury blinked in surprise. "Chicken pox? That's a new one. I've heard of anthrax being used against mutants, but not chicken pox. Are you sure this is a deliberate act?"

"We've had four epidemics in the past year. It can hardly be coincidence. And it's obvious from the symptoms that this is not ordinary chicken pox."

"Should I send in a medical team?"

"Not yet. We don't know if this is specifically targeted at the mutant gene, or if it can cross over into non-mutants. Whoever worked on this is diabolical."

"I'll send you what I can. But your best source on the Sandovals is someone you already have on the premises. Didn't Bruce Banner work with Michaela?"

"He did more than that," Xavier said, thinking of Nathan. "I'll see if he's up to answering a few questions."

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

He could barely even lift his head.

It was the medication, he knew; in addition to the pain relievers, Jean had given Banner a mild tranquilizer to keep him on an even keel, so to speak. Its effects on him had been more than mild, nearly knocking him out completely. If he could just get comfortable . . . maybe he could sleep for a bit.

Nathan had given up on the tapes for now and was sitting on the floor, staring at a fixed point across the room as if he were trying to work something out in his mind. He wasn't stupid; he had the mind of a five-year-old because that's what he was, a child trapped in a massive, grotesque body through no fault of his own. But his IQ . . . they hadn't tested him yet, but the way he picked things up, it had to be pretty high up there. Once he learned to read, the whole world would be opened to him.

Metaphorically speaking, of course. Until Professor Xavier was able to customize an image inducer for him, Nate couldn't leave the grounds.

"Nathan?"

The boy turned his head slowly. "What, Dad?"

"You need someone to rewind the tape for you?"

"No."

"You want some juice or something?"

"No."

"Anything you want to talk about?"

Silence for a moment. The hiss-thump as Nathan shifted his position on the floor. Then: "Tell me about my mother."

_Oh, boy. Where to begin?_ "Well . . . we worked together for a few years, and as far as I know, we were friends. We didn't get together much outside of work, but I was . . . very fond of her .I was sad to see her leave . . ."

"Did you love her?"

"I . . . yeah, I guess I did. I never--" He started to say "slept with her" before he remembered his audience. "Never thought about getting married or anything, but in a deeply platonic way, I guess I did love her."

"Do you love me?"

"Course I do, buddy. What's not to love?"

Nathan didn't know what to say to that. He asked, "Why are we the way we are?"

"I already explained this. Your mother did some things to you--some medical procedures--that made you special. You're big, and strong, and--"

"Why do I look so different?"

Banner looked his son over. Nathan was seven feet tall, with the massive paws of a bear and stubby horns poking out of the top of his triangular, scaly head. "I don't know. Maybe you have to look the way you do to be able to do the things you can." _Or maybe it was someone's idea of a joke._ Anyone who would try to kill mutants with a chicken pox virus had to have a twisted sense of humor.

The door whooshed open and Jean came in. "I brought some more tapes," she said. "How are you guys?"

"Not so good," Bruce said. "I think the tranq is reacting with my body chemistry. I feel like I can't even move."

Jean frowned. "Maybe we'll try a mood stabilizer instead of the tranq this time. I'm just glad to be working with someone who'll cooperate instead of fighting all the time."

"Who's fighting?"

"Who isn't? The Maximoff twins are bickering, as usual. Lance keeps sneaking into Kitty's room, and Kurt isn't happy about that. And there's only one Game Station console, and **nobody's **happy about that." Jean shook her head as if to say, _Kids these days. _"As if that weren't bad enough, Tabitha Smith and Roberto daCosta have been sneaking off to make out in one of the empty rooms, never the same one twice. Makes it harder to find them."

"Tabitha . . . and Roberto? You know, I can't keep all these new kids straight. I can't even **think **straight, right now."

"What can I do for you?" Jean moved to his side. "Do you need some water?"

"I don't think I can sit up right now. I hope this doesn't last much longer, or you might have to put in an IV. Do we have any?"

Jean nodded. "We've got a dozen or so in the medical supply closet. Let's hope we won't need them."  
"What's an IV?" Nathan asked.

"It's a kind of tube for giving medicine to someone who can't take it the normal way," Jean explained. "The IV stands for 'intravenous', and it means that it goes into a vein in your arm."

"Does it hurt?"

"A little, when the needle goes in, but after that, it's okay. It's there to help you get better."

"Will I need one?"

"I hope not," Jean said, wondering if any needle could pierce Nathan's thick skin. "Are you feeling worse?"

"I don't know. Can I have some orange juice?"

"Sure." Jean got a carton out of the small fridge in the control room, poured it into a paper cup, then remembered the size of Nathan's hands and found a larger container. Once poured, she handed it to him.

He had trouble holding it at first, but once she helped him hold it steady, he finished the juice off in two gulps. "Thank you."

"That's what I'm here for." She remembered her original mission and pulled out the printout. "I actually came here to ask you both about something. We may possibly have a suspect. Do you recognize this man?"

The moment he laid eyes on the grainy website photo, Nathan reacted as if he'd been hit with a cattle prod. He screamed and backed away as far as he could, throwing his arms up to protect himself.

_Okay, that didn't go so well. _"Nathan, it's okay," Jean said in a soothing voice. "It's just a picture. It can't hurt you."

"I think he already has," Banner said. "I know who that is. I thought he'd gone underground, though."

"You know him? It says here his name is D. Ambrose."

"Must be an alias. His real name is Jack Franklin. He and I worked on Project Thunder about seven or eight years ago. Let's just say . . . he has a creative interpretation of medical ethics."

"Sounds like our guy, all right." Jean sighed and put the photo back in her pocket. "We'll Google him and see what we can find out on the web . . ."

"I have a better idea . . . I know someone who might know what Franklin's up to now. At the very least, he can point us in the right direction." Banner struggled to sit up; the tranq hadn't worn off yet, and until it did, his body was refusing to obey his brain's commands. "Can you bring me a phone?"

Jean handed him her cell phone. "I hope it works in here. The walls might interfere with the signal . . ."

"Seems to be working fine." He dialed the highly classified number, and waited through three rings until a vaguely familiar female voice said, "Stark Enterprises. How may I help you?"

"Is this . . . Joan?"

"Yes. Do I know you?"

Did she know him? He'd only asked her out twice; she'd turned him down politely but firmly both times. "It's Bruce Banner. Is Mr. Stark in?"

"Bruce? Oh my God! Hold on!" There was a click as she put him on hold, but fortunately, no annoying music. Banner looked up at Jean and shrugged apologetically.

"Sorry to use up all your minutes."

"Oh, it's okay. I have plenty. This is important. Take as long as you have to."

And then, suddenly, there he was. "Bob!" Tony Stark bellowed enthusiastically. "I thought you were dead! Where are you?"

"It's Bruce, actually," Banner corrected him.

"Right, sorry. Me and my terrible memory for names."

"I'm teaching at a private school in upstate New York," Banner told him, keeping it as vague as possible. "A . . . situation has come up here that we could use your help with."

"Anything for you, buddy. What is it?"

"Do you remember Jack Franklin?"

There was a long pause on the other end of the phone that made Banner think he'd lost the connection. Then Stark said, "I was hoping never to hear that name again. After what he did . . ."

"He may have done worse. We think he may be behind what's happening here."

"What's going on? Is he threatening you?"

Banner sighed. "It's a virus. Possibly a lethal one, targeted at . . . at the students here."

"You're at that mutant school in Bayview, aren't you?"

"Bay**ville**. How did you guess?"

"It's only been all over the news the last few months," Stark pointed out. "Don't worry, I won't blab to the media or anything. I wasn't aware Jack had branched out into biologicals; I thought his field of expertise was nuclear energy."

"He teamed up with Michaela Sandoval. I don't know if you remember her . . ."

"Hmm . . . name sounds kinda familiar, but I can't get a clear picture in my head. Is she the one who had a thing for you?"

"As a matter of fact, she used some of my DNA for her own project."

"How? What project?"

"I'll let you talk to him yourself." Banner called out, "Nathan! Come say hello to Mr. Stark!"

Nathan shuffled over. "What, Dad?"

"I'd like you to say hi to the man on the phone. I'll hold it for you while you talk." Nathan's smallest finger was twice as wide as the phone, making it hard to hold without breaking it. He leaned his ear close to the phone and answered Stark's questions as best he could.

"All right, let me talk to Dad now," Stark said, hardly believing what he had heard.

He thought he'd heard it all, but this took the seven-layer cake. When Banner came back on the line, Stark told him, "Congrats on becoming a father. How old is he?"

"Chronologically, he's five. Mentally, he's probably about the same, but he's learning fast. Physically, he's a lot bigger. You'd have to see him to believe it."

"I'll do that, then. Just let me contact Professor Xavier and warm up the jet, and I can be there in three hours."

"Wait a minute, Tony. You're coming **here? Now? **Don't forget we've got a medical emergency going on. I don't want to put you in danger."

"What exactly is this emergency?" Stark asked. "You said it was a virus?"

"It's . . ." He felt silly saying it, but it had to be said. "It's a weaponized chicken pox virus."

"Really?"

"It seems to be targeted at mutants, but there's no guarantee it won't affect X-negatives as well."

"I'll take my chances. I've survived worse than chicken pox, weaponized or otherwise. Besides, it sounds like you could use an extra pair of hands around the place."

"Well, if you're sure . . ."

"And, I might know someone, who knows someone, who knows someone, who knows where Jack Franklin is hiding."

That clinched it. "I guess we'll be seeing you in a few hours. Thanks, Tony, for everything."

"Hey, anything to help the guy who taught me to program my VCR." With that, he signed off. Bruce handed the phone back to Jean.

Nathan asked, "How do you know Mr. Stark?"

"I worked for him once, Nathan, years ago. It was around the time I knew your mother and right before General Ross pulled me to work on the Gamma Project. He's a brilliant man, Tony Stark is, even if he does have trouble with remembering names."

"Will he help us?"

"If he can't," Banner said, "he'll find us someone who can."

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Stark was packing up his Iron Man armor in its carrying case (which itself weighed thirty pounds) when his assistant came in with some last-minute papers to sign. "The jet's been waiting nearly twenty minutes."

"They won't leave without me."

She eyed the case. "Are you bringing . . . that?"

"Why, you think I should leave it here?"

"Do you think you'll need it?"

"I don't know. I might. You know what they say: better to have it and not need it." He closed the case, lifted it, then set it on a luggage trolley in the middle of the room.

"The medical supplies you asked for are already loaded."

"Good."

"May I ask **why **you asked for them?"

"You may ask," he said. "It would take too long to tell you. Just trust me on this."

The last thing he packed in his attaché case was a framed photo of the Project Minotaur team, which he had found in his desk. Some of the faces he didn't recognize, though he must have met them at some point. He spotted Bruce right away; further down the row, he saw Jack Franklin with a smug grin on his lips. Behind him was a beautiful olive-skinned woman who had to be Michaela Sandoval.

_She's hot,_ he thought to himself. _I wonder what the kid looks like?_

Little did he know, as he finally boarded his private jet, that he was being watched.

Jack Franklin congratulated himself for having the foresight to have Stark's phone bugged. Now he had a chance to eliminate all his enemies in one shot.

Franklin might not have been so confident if he had known that his own phone was tapped. He'd been on the FBI's terror watch list since he had tried to murder Nick Fury with engineered bacteria. Fortunately for the SHIELD leader, the antidote had been delivered to him in time, and he now kept a supply in his first-aid kit, in case Franklin tried it again.

Being able to put the last surviving member of the Sandoval conspiracy behind bars was a major priority for the Bureau, SHIELD, and several other law enforcement agencies, right down to the Department of Motor Vehicles. (Franklin thought parking tickets were something which happened to other people.)

For Nick Fury it was personal: no one did what Franklin had tried to do and got away with it. He wasn't going to rest until Jack Franklin was locked up in a maximum-security hellhole for the rest of his life.

Fury decided to move in a moment too late. By the time his team was in position, Franklin had already pulled out, headed for the Interstate. It didn't take a genius to know where he was headed.

"I guess we're going to Bayville," Fury said. "Let's bring this creep down."

_(A/N: Dun dun DUNNN! And it all comes together in the final chapter! Stay tuned! And thanks for sticking with me this far!)_


	6. Who's the Monster Here?

Back at the Xavier Institute, Wolverine was doing his least favorite job in the world: cleaning up puke. "Honestly," he said to himself, "can't we have just one month without an epidemic?"

As he finished the mopping job, Xavier informed him they were about to have company.

"Don't they know we're under quarantine?"

"The man responsible for the quarantine is the one who's coming. His real name is Jack Franklin, and he apparently became involved with an anti-mutant group some time ago."

"Yeah, that would explain it. Doesn't excuse it, though. Wait till I get my hands on that-"

"He's not our only visitor. He's bringing with him the most dangerous hit man on the East Coast."

"I guess we can cancel the tea and crumpets, then." Wolverine put the mop down, "I'll go make sure the security systems are working."

Just as he said that, an alarm went off. "Intruder detected," came the automatic alert.

"Initiate Protocol Five," Wolverine said. "No safeties. This is gonna be fun."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

_This is gonna be fun, _Jack Franklin thought.

He'd expected defenses, and come prepared for them. That was why he hadn't come alone. One of them would keep the defense systems occupied, while the other slipped inside and got the job done. The hit man didn't know it, but he was the distraction. Franklin hadn't intended to let someone else do what he had come here to take care of himself.

_All mutants must die. Especially one in particular. The one I came here for._

He radioed his associate and told him to proceed with the plan. If all went well, the hit man would be out here getting himself fried while Franklin slipped past.

But as the Brotherhood could have told him, when it came to the X-Men, plans to destroy them rarely went well.

The hit man had already been taken down by the gas canisters in the bushes. His limp body lay in the grass, and Franklin simply stepped over it. There couldn't have been much of a defense force, considering that he'd already weakened them with his specially engineered virus. It was virulent enough to even take out the Hulk—which was what he was counting on. The two of them had unfinished business to take care of, and one way or another, only one of them was leaving this place alive.

He was still thinking that when he ran into Wolverine's fist. "Oof!"

"That's for all the crap you pulled on us earlier."

Franklin fell back and heard something crack as he hit the ground hard. Staggering to his feet (and hoping that nothing vital was broken), he took a swing at Wolverine, but missed and found himself on the receiving end of a sharp set of claws. "What the hell, man?"

"**Don't**," Wolverine growled. "Don't make any sudden moves and I won't slice you in half like you deserve."

"You mutie freak! You and all your other little freaks are an insult to the human race! We'll all be better off when you freaks are—"

"Shut up," Wolverine snapped, and threw him to the ground so hard that his teeth rattled. "If anyone's a disgrace to humanity, it's you."

"At least I **am **human, unlike you freaks!" Franklin fought to stay on his feet and not have to suffer the indignity of being dragged over the threshold face-first. "You're nothing but a genetic mistake! A disgusting freak of nature who shouldn't exist! You should—"

"**You **should keep your filthy mouth shut." Wolverine bent to pick up the bioterrorist, but as he did, Franklin kicked out and knocked him back a few feet. He then punched him in the gut, a move which didn't do more than make him angry. While Wolverine was still stunned by this turn of events, he turned and ran past him into the mansion.

"Where are you, you big green son of a—" he shouted to the empty entry hall.

WHAM! A huge fist slammed into Franklin's jaw, knocking him to the floor. Dazed, he picked himself up and found himself face to face with the Hulk, who was glaring at him despite (or perhaps because of) his weakened condition and growling like a rabid dog.

"Wha . . .?" Franklin stammered. All the things he had planned to say to the man who had ruined his life and stolen the heart of his woman just evaporated into nothing the moment that he saw the huge green monster standing in front of him. It was the first time he had seen the Hulk in person, and man, was he big.

"Uh oh . . . you made him mad." Franklin whirled around and saw Wolverine behind him, cutting off that avenue of escape. This was not good. His entire plan was up in smoke now, and the best he could hope for was that the Hulk would be too weak to pound him completely flat. He had to find a way out . . .

"Dad?"

Franklin spun around and saw his proudest creation standing there, looking at him like he was a nightmare come to life. "What are you doing here?" the child asked him. The viral blisters were in full bloom all over his body, visible even through the fur. It was regrettable that this magnificent creature would soon be no more, but Franklin was willing to sacrifice his greatest creation in order to fulfill his revenge. "Hello, child," he said. "Remember me?"

The frightened look on that snake-like face indicated that he did, all too well. "No," he moaned. "Don't hurt me!"

The Hulk growled, and it was then that Franklin realized his mistake: he was not as weak as the bioterrorist had thought. Taser, where was the damn taser? He searched his pockets fruitlessly, but found nothing. Great. He was really screwed now.

The great green fist shot out again, knocking Franklin back through the open door, and out into the courtyard. As soon as he could stand, he took advantage of the opportunity to run for his life—

"Stay where you are and put your hands in the air!"

The voice came from the air. Franklin stopped in his tracks and looked up. "Oh, come on! Iron Man, too? Give me a break!" He felt like he was being attacked from all sides, and there was no way out . . .

**There **was his taser! Maybe now things would go **his** way for a change. He lunged for it, aimed at the Hulk, and fired.

And missed.

"Dammit!" He took another shot, and this time the bolts bounced off Iron Man's chest and gave him a bit of a jolt, but not enough to slow him down at all.

"Third time's the charm." Franklin knew that everything depended on this last shot . . . and it was good. The Hulk staggered sideways, twitched, and fell over like a bowling pin, with a thud that shook the whole school.

Splendid, Franklin thought. One down, two to go. Now that his primary opponent was out of action, he could concentrate on the other two. The strongest should go first. He pulled the assault rifle out of his pack and was about to take aim at Iron Man when something slammed into him and knocked him onto the ground. As he struggled to catch his breath, he was yanked up by the collar and flung through the open door into the school hallway, where he landed on his head and saw stars.

And then he looked up, expecting to see the Hulk, but instead saw the face of the boy, twisted in fury. Franklin began to realize that designing this creature to be as strong as a bear, as deadly as a viper, as tenacious as a wolf, and as durable as a mountain goat, was probably a bad idea. He should have stuck with puppy dogs and sea turtles . . .

"Don't you hurt my dad!" Nathan growled, and he picked Franklin up by the ankle and threw him into the far wall. Ouch. He lay still for a moment, hoping that if he played dead, the behemoth would move on, but Nathan saw through the ruse and yanked him to his feet.

Everything was going straight down the drain, and he didn't know if he'd live long enough to see the inside of a jail cell . . .

Wolverine was ready to move in and slice this creep up like a baked ham, but instead was forcedto watch as Nathan threw the mad scientist across the room like a football. That couldn't be good for him. He should really put a stop to this, before the kid hurt himself. He stepped between Nathan and the dazed Franklin and extended his claws, only as a warning. "Enough! You can stop now, kid. He's down, and he's stayin' down. If he knows what's good for him."

Nathan didn't seem to hear Wolverine at first. He was too busy getting ready for his next attack. His eyes were glazed over, and he didn't seem to know where he was. Kid must have a hell of a fever, Wolverine thought.

"Stop! Nathan, stop it!" Bruce, clad only in a pair of too-big sweatpants that he held up with one hand, ran up and stood directly in front of his son. "You'll kill him!"

"Dad?" The boy looked down, slowly.

"Go inside, with Mr. Logan. Go lie down in the room where we were before, until I come and get you. Okay?"

Nathan looked over at Franklin, who was taking Wolverine's advice and lying still. "He's a bad man," he said.

"I know. Let me deal with him. You just go inside, okay?"

There was a moment when he wasn't sure if Nathan understood him, but then the boy nodded slowly and went with Wolverine, who glanced back at the fallen villain.

"You're bein' too easy on him, Doc. I don't see any point in keeping scum like that alive."

"We'll let the police deal with him. But first, there's something I need." He tried bending down to talk to Franklin, nearly fell over, and sat on the floor instead. "Where's the antidote, Jack?"

"Huh?" The geneticist feigned confusion. Or maybe he wasn't faking—he'd been hit pretty hard.

"The cure! I know you brought it with you, to wave in my face and laugh! Where is it?"

"Why should I tell you?"

"Because there are at least two people here who want to kill you, and if you don't give me what I want, I might just let them."

Franklin laughed. "You're not a killer. Either of you."

"Not yet. Give me one good reason, Jack, that's all I need. You tortured my son. You killed his mother."

"You have no proof of that."

"That's not a denial. And you come here, to what I thought was a safe place for us, and poison us all, just to get to me. You are one sick bastard, and I hope they lock you up in a deep, dark hole and throw away the key."

Franklin looked at him for a long moment, measuring the man with his eyes. Then he said, "Right front pocket. But there's not enough for everyone."

"There will be. Give it to me."

"I would, but I don't think I can move my arms."

Banner sighed and reached into the man's pocket. It wasn't in the right front, but he hadn't expected it to be. He found it in the left front pocket, and it was in a bottle that only held a few ounces.

Logan came back. "He's settled. Want me to call the cops?"

"Call an ambulance first."

"Oh, don't do me any favors," Franklin moaned.

"I could end your pain right now," Wolverine said, his claws flashing in the light.

"No," said Banner. "He's not a threat to us like this. We'll let the law handle it."

It was then that Iron Man touched down just outside the front door. "The police have been called," he told them. "They're bringing an armed response unit and a biological containment crew, in case he has any other surprises up his sleeves."

"Thanks. You stay here with him."

"Where are you going?"

Bruce looked down at the vial in his hand. "I've got to get this to Hank, so he can synthesize enough for everyone." He got up slowly and got about halfway to the stairs before his legs gave out, and he sagged to the floor.

"Lemme help ya." Logan was there, helping him up and practically carrying him to the Danger Room, where Nathan was already laid out on his mat on the floor. "I'll take that up to Hank. You just rest here. I think you put in a good day's work already."

"We're happy," he said. "I don't think he's completely satisfied, but he's happy that Jack got what was coming to him."

"You talking about Nathan or—"

"The Other Guy. That's how I think of him. It sounds so much better than 'creature' or 'monster'. Maybe if I respect him more, he won't be so angry all the time."

On that note, Stark went down to the end of the drive to meet the police when they arrived. Not wanting to leave Franklin alone, he dragged him along. He felt a lot better once that creep was in the back of a squad car.

Four hours later, the first doses of the antivirus were ready to be distributed to the most serious cases. Which, by now, was most of them.

"I don't understand," Kurt said, as he took the small cup with the lifesaving medicine. "I had zhe chicken pox vhen I vas six!"

"This is a specially-engineered virus," Hank told him. "The usual immunities don't apply."

"What's it taste like?" asked Rogue.

Kurt swallowed and made a face. "Not good."

"So it must be workin', then." She handed him a cup of water and waited for her turn to take the medication.

Kitty was sitting next to Lance, who groaned dramatically and lay sprawled on the floor like a dead man.

"Oh, quit whining! You're not dying!" Kitty snapped at him. "We're all in the same boat here."

"Except my boat has sailed. I'm a goner. I'm done for."

"Ya will be if ya don't shut up!" Rogue growled at him.

"Can we go **home **already?" Pietro moaned.

Wanda would have hex-bolted him into oblivion, if she had been strong enough to move. "Stop whining!" she snapped. "We'll go home once we're all over this thing, but right now, just wait your turn! Or I'll smack you so hard you'll need brain surgery!"

"What brains?" Toad muttered, but fortunately nobody heard him.

The last ones to be given the cure were the ones who needed it most. Bruce insisted that Nathan get it first, and had to wake him up to take it.

"Did we get him?" was the boy's first question.

"Yeah, we got him." His father smiled weakly. "I need you to drink this for me, okay? I know it tastes kinda yucky, but you need to swallow it all, and then you can go back to sleep."

"All of this?" He looked into the cup, which was twice as big as anyone else had taken, because of his greater body mass. "That's a lot."

"I know, buddy, but you need it to get better. I'll take mine right after you do."

"What if it doesn't work?"

"It'll work." He didn't sound too convincing, though, even to his own ears. What if it turned out to be Jack's last laugh after all?

As it turned out, the medicine was legitimate after all. It worked so well that some of the kids were completely recovered in only a matter of days. The Brotherhood kids were ready to go home after two days of whining and complaining from Pietro and threats of violence from Wanda. Kitty was both sad to see Lance go (he was cute when he wasn't moaning about dying) and glad that she didn't have to hear Pietro's complaints any longer. She was feeling a lot better, but not yet fully recovered.

Nathan and his dad, being the most seriously afflicted, took a bit longer to get over it, even with their extraordinary healing abilities. They watched a lot of cartoons, and talked about what would happen once they recovered.

"I don't think I can stay here, Nate," Bruce told him.

Nathan looked at him in shock. "Why? Dad, **why**?"

"Because it's not safe. I'm putting everyone else at risk just by being here."

"But the Bad Man's in jail! He won't hurt us anymore!"

"It's still not safe. I could have another . . . episode . . . at any time, and hurt people without meaning to."

"You can learn not to do that! I did!"

"No, buddy. I think the time has come to move on."

"Let me come with you!"

Bruce was shaking his head. "No, you have to stay here. It's safe for you here, and you'll learn how to use your powers to help people. Professor Xavier will take care of you, until I come back. If I ever do."

"You better come back!" Nathan threw his arms around his dad and held him tight, but not too tight. "Maybe the professor can help you, too. Maybe the Scary Guy can learn to be . . . not so scary."

"It's too dangerous. He can't . . . be around people. And that means I can't be around people."

"But Dad—"

"Nathan, I have to go. I'm sorry."

The boy turned away, tears slipping down his scaly face. "When?"

"As soon as possible. Maybe another few days. I want to make sure I'm strong enough to travel."

"Don't you dare leave without saying goodbye!"

"I won't."

"To everybody."

"Of course. Nathan . . . I don't want to have to do this, but it's for the good of everyone here. If I'm not here, the people who are hunting me won't attack innocent kids."

"If you're here, we can protect you! I'll smash anyone who tries to hurt you!"

Bruce smiled at that. "You can't smash your way through life. That's why you're here, to learn how to use your abilities in a non-aggressive manner."

"But sometimes you gotta fight."

"Exactly. So I want you to learn to defend yourself without getting violent and smashing things that shouldn't be smashed. There's a time and a place for everything. Is this making any sense to you?"

Nathan looked at him. "I think so. But I still don't want you to go."

"I know. I don't want to leave, but I have to. I'll try and stay in touch, if I can, but you might not be able to write back to me, because I don't want anyone to know where I am. But don't ever give up hope—nothing in this world will keep me from you forever. Maybe I'll find a way to control him, and I'll come back. Whatever happens, I want you to hang in there, and do the best you can. Okay?"

"Okay," Nathan said, and went back to sleep.

Bruce left about a week later, and as he has promised, he said goodbye, not just to Nathan, but to everyone.

"Hate to see you go, Green Genes," Logan said sadly. "You're a good man. I'll go drinking with you anytime."

"I would," said Bruce, "but it's not safe."

"Ah, I can take him!"

Professor Xavier said, "Perhaps the solution is not to work on suppressing him, but to set him free. Under controlled conditions, of course."

"There's no controlling him."

"Our Danger Room can contain his violence."

"Thank you for the offer, Professor, but this is something I have to work out on my own. If I succeed with that, I'll come back."

Some of the students had shown up as well. Kitty looked like she was about to cry. "You can't leave us! Not now! You're an amazing teacher, and a really nice person, and, like . . . we can help you! Isn't that why we're all here, to learn from each other and help each other? Stay!"

"I'm sorry, Kitty." Though it was probably inappropriate for a teacher and a student, he put an arm around her. "But it doesn't mean we'll never see each other again. Just . . . not for a while."

"Charles is right," said Hank McCoy. "You need to stop suppressing your darker side and unleash the animal within. Learn to work with him, instead of against him."

"If I could do that, without things getting smashed, I would," Bruce said, clapping him on the shoulder. "But at this point, I have no control over him. He's too wild to be tamed."

Nathan was at the end of the line, and he was looking down at the ground, trying not to cry. "Promise you'll call?"

"As soon as it's safe. I'll do my best to stay in touch, though I can't let you know where I am. But know, always, that I love you." He looked up at the boy's scaly face, and thought how he had never looked so beautiful. Then he threw his arms around him, and gave him a long, hard hug.

There was the honking of a horn, in the driveway. "I have to go," he said, "or I'll miss my plane."

"Plane?"

"I'm leaving the country. I can't tell you where I'm going, but it's on another continent. If I can, I'll call you in a few days; if not, I'll send a postcard. You just stay here and do what they tell you."

"I love you, Dad."

As he picked up his one small bag, Bruce said, "I love you too, son." Then he got in the car and went away.

A month or so later, Nathan was trying to look something up on the school computer (and trying not to break it) when Scott came in and told him he had a visitor.

Immediately he jumped up. "My dad? My dad is here?"

"No, it's not—"

"Where is he?"

"He's in the conference room, but it's not—"

Nathan ran all the way to the second-floor conference room, tears of joy streaming from his eyes. When he got there, however, a man he'd never seen before, dressed in a black suit and carrying a brown case, was sitting there. He stood as Nathan entered the room.

"Hello, Nathan," he said. "I'm Agent Coulson, with SHIELD. It's a pleasure to finally meet you."

"Where's my dad?" the boy asked.

"Well, that's what we'd like to know. See, we thought we knew where he was, but then we lost track of him. Go ahead, sit down."

Nathan sat very gingerly in the hard plastic chair, aware that it probably wouldn't hold him for long. "What's SHIELD? Are you with the government?"

"Sort of. SHIELD stands for Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division. It started as a branch of the Army, but it evolved into its own entity." At the boy's confused look, he explained, "We're the good guys. We don't want to hurt your dad, just keep an eye on him. And on you, as well. Did you know you have a file with SHIELD?"

"I know the Bad Man made me."

"Yes, you did start life as an experiment. But you're a person, and we can't wait to see how you grow and develop. When you're old enough, maybe you can come work for us. But for now, you're in the best place you can be."

"So you're not here to take me away?"

"No, of course not. We would never do that. Not unless you were a threat to everyone here."

"My dad left to keep us safe from . . . the Scary Guy."

Coulson smiled. "The Scary Guy, that's a good name for him. I imagine he'd be pretty scary to you. We think of him as the Big Guy, the Powerful Guy. And we want him on our side."

Nathan was still not sure he could trust this man. He thought that maybe someone else should be there to see that there were no tricks or anything. Should he go find a teacher or something?

"What's wrong?" Coulson asked.

Nathan didn't know how to answer that. Finally he said, "What do you want from me?"

"We don't want anything, except to help you and your dad. Here, take this." He handed Nathan a small white card. On it was printed PHILLIP COULSON, DEPUTY DIRECTOR, and a phone number. "This is my personal cell phone number. If your dad calls you, or if he happens to show up here, I want you to call me and let me know. I promise you we won't take him into custody, or try to hurt him in any way. We just want to make sure he's okay."

Nathan nodded and tucked the card into his pocket. "Okay."

"And since today is the first Tuesday of the month, I'll be back on . . ." He consulted the calendar on his phone. "The third of June. How's that?"

"Why are you coming back?"

"Just to check up on you. See how you're doing here. And if we hear anything about your dad, I'll pass it on to you. Deal?"

"Deal."

Agent Coulson stood up to go. "It was nice meeting you, Nathan. You're everything we could have hoped for, and more. You'll do great things one day. I have to go to a press conference now, but remember what I said: if your dad calls, you call me and let me know."

"I will."

"Good luck." He shook the boy's massive paw, and then left the room. Nathan was still sitting there, but he felt good. Maybe these people could help him find his dad.

Agent Coulson kept his promise; he visited Nathan once a month, sometimes bringing small things like toys and books and once a CD of classical music that he said featured a friend of his. Nathan felt like he had a friend, for the first time in his life. He stopped worrying about going back into a cage; if they wanted to do that to him, they would have done it by now.

He never did hear from his father. Not until four years later, the day that everything changed.

_(A/N: And it's done! Yes, it's a little rushed, but I just wanted to get this done after years of letting it sit there! Epilogue to follow, so stay tuned!)_


	7. Epilogue

FOUR YEARS LATER

Nathan and some of the other younger students at the Institute were watching a movie on TV when suddenly the station interrupted with breaking news.

"We've just received word that a strange race of alien invaders is attacking downtown. At least six blocks near Stark Tower have been decimated; no word yet on casualties. We'll have live pictures for you as soon as Sky Seven can get close enough."

"Oh, my God." Jean gasped and leaned forward, as if trying to see through the screen.

Scott was already suiting up. "I need all team members to meet me in the hangar immediately. We can approach from their blind side and—"

"No," Professor Xavier said. "I've already spoken to Nick Fury; his team is handling this. You'll only get in the way."

"We can't just sit here and do nothing!"

"It's too dangerous! I won't risk any of you unnecessarily!"

"If Fury's team fails, we'll all go down!"

"**If** he calls for us, I'll send you. Until then, you're going nowhere. If I have to lock down this campus, I will!"

Scott nodded and ordered his team, "Stand down. We're not going at this time. But be ready to move out if things go south."

The X-Men moved to the Ready Room to prepare for possible action. Kitty stayed behind with the younger students, watching as the images played across the TV screen. Some guy in black was on a rooftop, firing explosive arrows at the aliens, and Nathan thought that was beyond cool. Then he saw a flash of green down on the street.

The camera swiveled to follow it, and he saw a familiar form smashing aliens left and right.

"Dad! That's my dad!"

"What?" Kitty stared at the screen, but the cameras had already swung away from the Hulk and onto a man in bright colors, swinging around a shield with a star on it and protecting the bystanders.

"Hey, isn't that Captain America?" asked Carlos, one of the newer students. "I thought he was dead."

"I heard that SHIELD kept him in a freezer for seventy years," said Bobby Drake. "Like they knew they were gonna need him."

"And there's Iron Man!" said Rahne. "I wrote him a fan letter!"

Nathan was glued to the screen, hoping for another glimpse of the Hulk. It was the first time he had seen his dad in four years. "I should go down there and help," he said.

"No way!" said Kitty. "If the Professor isn't even letting the senior team go, there's no **way **he'd let you go!"

"He doesn't have to know."

"Um, don't take this the wrong way, dude," said Bobby, "but you're not exactly built for stealth."

Nathan's heart sank at this. All he wanted was to go and help his dad, but everyone was telling him not to! He turned his attention back to the action just in time to see the Hulk smash an alien flying machine out of the sky. "Go, Dad!"

Sure enough, there was the Hulk, clinging to the side of a building like a giant green spider. Or King Kong, swatting airplanes out of the sky. And then he was gone again, as the camera swung around, following Iron Man.

"What's that thing?" Bobby asked, pointing to what looked like a hole in the sky.

"Looks like a wormhole," said Kitty. "I bet that's how the aliens got here."

"Can we close it?" asked Riley.

Riley was still relatively new at the school, and Nathan made it a point to say hello to her every day. He thought she was pretty, with her long blonde hair and her pretty green eyes. She was fourteen, and though that was only about five and a half years older than he was, he felt like such a little kid around her. If only he could—

"What's he doing?" Carlos asked suddenly.

Nathan turned his attention back to the screen just in time to see Iron Man fly directly into the wormhole, just before it closed up.

"Oh, no!" Nathan moved closer to the screen, as if to make sure he was really seeing what he was seeing. "Is he coming back?"

Rahne was almost crying. "He has to come back! He just has to!"

Nathan remembered something that he had left behind in his room. He ran to get it, and thankfully it was right where he had left it, on the night stand. He picked it up, ran to the nearest phone, and called the number.

It rang four times, and then a woman's voice answered. "Yes?"

Nathan blinked. "Where's Agent Coulson?"

"He's . . . unavailable. Who is this?"

"Nathan. Nathan Banner. Can I talk to my dad, or is he still . . . green?"

"Look, we're a little busy here kid. I can't—what? Hold on." She put the phone down and talked to someone in the background for a minute. Then she came back. "I have to go, but I'll have someone call you as soon as I can. What's the number there?"

Nathan dutifully read the number off the phone he was using. "What about Iron Man? Is he okay?"

"We don't know yet. Now I really need to go, okay?"

"Okay. Tell Agent Coulson I'll be waiting."

There was a pause. Then the woman said, "Yeah, sure, kid." Then she hung up.

Nathan reluctantly went back to the TV lounge, where everyone was buzzing excitedly.

"What's going on?" he asked.

"I don't know what he did," said Rahne, "but he stopped them! All of them just dropped all at once, like puppets with their strings cut. It's over."

"Did he come back yet?"

No one answered. Nathan searched the TV footage for another glimpse of his dad, but he didn't see him. Then all of a sudden, there he was, leaping up into the air towards something that seemed to be falling to earth at an alarming rate of speed.

"It's him! It's Iron Man!" said Carlos. "Is he alive?"

Hulk caught the falling form easily and brought him gently down to the ground. All of a sudden, the screen went blue.

"What happened? Where'd it go?" The kids were confused. "Did someone sit on the remote?"

But then, just as suddenly, the picture came back.

"He's alive!" Rahne exclaimed with joy, as the armored figure sat up.

But Nathan had eyes only for his dad. "And they called you a monster," he whispered. "You're a hero, Dad. You're a hero."

* * *

It was about an hour later that the woman who had Agent Coulson's phone called Nathan back. By that time, the movie had come back, although it was almost over now and they had no idea what was going on. Somehow, though, it didn't seem important.

"Now can I talk to my dad?" Nathan asked.

"He's still being debriefed," the woman told him. "But since the first Monday of the month is coming up this week, I'll be in to see you, and then we'll talk about when you can see your dad. It's still pretty chaotic down here right now, so give us some time."

"I just want to talk to him for two minutes!" A growl had come into Nathan's voice. "Can't I just talk to him for two minutes? Then you can have him back and do what you want with him. I haven't seen or heard from him in four years! I just want to talk to my dad!"

There was a long moment of silence. Then the woman said, "Okay, Nathan, hold on. I'll see what I can do."

She put the phone down, and he waited, wondering who this person was and why she hadn't identified herself yet. She must be with SHIELD, which was why she had Agent Coulson's phone, but who was she? Maybe she wasn't important enough to-

"Hello?"

That voice made Nathan's heart leap within his chest. "Dad! I saw you on TV! You were awesome!"

"That's what they tell me. Listen, I can't stay on too long, but Agent Hill said you demanded to talk to me, so here I am."

"Where've you been, Dad? You didn't call. You didn't even send a postcard."

"I didn't think it was safe. I thought if I sent you anything with my address on it, someone could intercept it and find me. I didn't know that SHIELD was watching me the whole time, keeping the bad people off my trail."

Now Nathan was confused. "SHIELD knew where you were? But . . . Agent Coulson said he didn't know where you were."

"Maybe the information didn't reach his level. I don't know. Maybe he didn't want you to know because he was afraid you'd come rushing after me."

"Can't we ask him?"

"No . . . we can't. Anyway. I need to talk to some more people, and then I'm cleared to go wherever I want. Maybe I'll see if I can come up and visit you."

"That would be great." Nathan felt a tear slip down his scaly cheek. "I've missed you, Dad."

"I missed you too, buddy. I have to go now. I'll see if I can talk to you again soon. Be good, okay?"

"Okay."

There was a clunk as the phone was handed off, and the woman-Agent Hill?-was back. "I'll see you on Monday, Nathan. I can't promise you more than that right now."

He nodded, even though he knew she couldn't see him. "Okay. Same time?"

"Yes. Do you like peanut butter cups?"

"Yeah," he said, "but they're so small that I always smash them before they get to my mouth."

"Giant sized peanut butter cups. Got it. Anything else you need?"

_Just my dad._ "Can I have a root beer?"

"Sure. See you Monday."

"Bye."

He felt better after he'd talked to his dad, but he knew that the weekend would drag by like a million years. Still, he knew his dad was okay, so that was a weight off his mind. But why the four years of silence?

"Are you okay?"

He turned around. It was Riley, standing there looking concerned. "You tell me," he said. "You're the empath."

"You know I don't intrude on other people's emotional states."

"But . . ."

"But I felt such conflicting emotions coming from you that I had to find out what was wrong."

"I don't know if it's wrong, really . . . I was just so happy to see my dad again. But I won't be really seeing him till Monday, at least, so I'm not happy about that."

"Are you gonna leave us and go live with your dad?"

He looked at her. The idea hadn't even occurred to him until she mentioned it. "I don't know. Nobody said anything about me leaving here."

"If he asked you to . . . would you?"

Now there was something to think about. Of course he wanted to be with his dad, but . . . "I don't know. I don't even know if he's staying in this country. He might go back to Zimbabwe. Or Nicaragua. Or wherever he was when they tracked him down. He knows I'm safe here, so he might go away again. I'll ask him about it when I see him. If I see him."

"I just want you to know," Riley said, "that if you do leave us, you'll still be my friend. Always."

"Really?"

"Sure. Course, I'd like it better if you stayed, but you do what you have to do."

"Thanks." He reached out a hand to her, not really sure where it would end up. She caught it midway and twined her own around it.

It felt nice.

* * *

Monday he waited all morning for the announcement that his visitor had arrived. He wondered what Agent Hill looked like. For some reason he pictured her looking like Emily Prentiss on _Criminal Minds_: long dark hair, confident features, a real no-nonsense type. He wondered if she would bring him something, besides the peanut butter cups and root beer.

For the first time, he allowed himself to wonder where Agent Coulson had gone. He must have been transferred to another division or something-but wouldn't he have told Nathan that he was leaving? Or did he not know until the last minute that he was being moved? Or fired?

At two-fifteen precisely, Miss Jean came into the library where Nathan was studying, and told him that his visitor was here. He jumped up, leaving all his stuff behind, and followed her.

Agent Hill was almost exactly as he had pictured her. Her dark hair was short, but she looked like she knew what she was doing. She had a black soft-sided case on the table in front of her. When he came in, she stood, and he saw that she was a bit shorter than he had thought she'd be.

"Nice to finally meet you, Nathan," she said, nodding instead of extending a hand. He nodded back. "As you can see, I brought the snacks you asked for. Help yourself."

He sat down and contemplated the bowl full of hockey puck-sized peanut butter cups. The chocolate coating looked firm enough that he wouldn't break through it when he picked them up. He chose one in white chocolate, handled it gently as he could, and took a generous bite. It was heavenly.

"Where'd you get these?" he asked her.

"Specialty candy shop," she said. "You like peanut butter?"

He nodded.

"Your dad likes peanut butter, too. He's quite an . . . interesting person. I wonder what else you have in common?"

"When do I get to see him?"

"Right now. Sort of." She unzipped the black case and pulled out a silver laptop, opening it up and activating it. "Have you ever heard of Skype?"

Nathan's brow furrowed. "It's like . . . video conferencing, isn't it? Telephone calls on the computer?"

"It's exactly like that. I'm going to show you how to Skype-call your dad whenever you want, so you two can talk to each other even when he's overseas. Do you have your own computer?"

Nathan shook his head. "Dr. McCoy's trying to customize one for me, because the keys are too small for my fingers. He says it won't be ready for another few weeks, though."

"That's okay. I'm sure he'll optimize it for Skype connectivity. Here's what you do . . ."

Nathan watched as she showed him exactly what to do to access Skype. It was a lot to remember, but he supposed that once he'd done it a few times, it would be easy.

At last, the connection was made, and he saw his dad's face for the first time in four years.

"Dad!" he exclaimed. "He can hear me, right?" he asked Agent Hill.

"Sure he can. Just speak normally, and the microphone will pick it up."

"Okay." He waved at the computer screen image. "Hi, Dad."

"Hi, Nate. I'm sorry I can't see you in person, but . . . I'm at the airport right now. I have some unfinished business in Calcutta, and I probably won't be back till September. But I'll have my computer with me, so we can talk like this any time you want."

"That's great." So he was leaving again. Well, that was okay, as long as Nathan got to talk to him sometimes. "Dad, can I ask you something?"

"Sure, buddy. Anything you want."

"What happened to Agent Coulson?"

A shadow passed over his dad's face. Agent Hill, who had been watching their interaction, looked away and began tidying up the empty peanut butter cup wrappers.

"What did they tell you?" Dad asked him.

"All I know is, when I called, they said he was unavailable. Not why, or how. What's going on?"

Dad looked like he didn't want to tell him, but he did anyway. "He died," he said. "During the-the battle. I don't know how, I wasn't there. I'm sorry I can't tell you more, son."

"He died in the line of duty," said Agent Hill. "That's all you need to know."

Nathan felt terrible. It seemed that everyone he knew ended up dead-his mother, his uncle, and now Agent Coulson. "He was a nice man," he said. "Sometimes he brought me things. Is there a-a grave?"

"We haven't worked out funeral details yet," said Agent Hill. "I'll see if I can get clearance for you to go. Both of you, if you want."

"I really didn't know him all that well," Dad said. "Besides which, I won't even be here."

Nathan wasn't sure if he wanted to go to the funeral by himself, among a bunch of strangers he didn't know if he could trust. If Dad was there, that was okay, but if he wasn't even in the country . . .

"Maybe I won't go," he said. "I don't have to, do I?"

"That's entirely up to you," Agent Hill told him. "No one's making you."

"Good."

They talked for a bit longer; Nathan didn't expect them to make up for four years in one go, but he liked Dad's story about the woman in Calcutta who wouldn't let anyone but him near her babies.

"Too bad you don't have any pictures."

"I wish I did, but maybe next time, I'll take some and e-mail them to you. Now that we know it's safe."

"But you don't have my e-mail address."

"I'll get it. And I'll make sure you have mine. I promise I'll stay in touch with you. I'll call if I can, at least once a week."

"I can live with that." He'd have to, but once a week was better than nothing. Some of his schoolmates got a letter once a month. Some hadn't been home since last summer. He had it easy, in comparison.

"I have to go now," Dad said. "I need to pack for my trip. But I'll call you Sunday night. I don't know if it'll be by Skype, if I can get a signal, or on the regular phone, but I'll call."

"I'll be waiting."

"I love you, buddy."

"I love you too, Dad."

The signal cut out just then, and Agent Hill closed the window, then shut down the laptop and put it away. "Are you happy now that you got to see him?"

"Yeah, I guess so." He'd have to be satisfied with seeing him on a screen for a while. "When do I get to go visit?"

"Well, you heard him. He's about to leave for his trip. I wouldn't ask him about it until he comes back, at least." She swept the remaining peanut butter cup wrappers and empty root beer bottles into the trash can, and stood up. "I'll be back next month. We'll talk more then."

"About what?"

"About your future. You know, technically, your DNA is our property. It was created in a lab under our direct supervision, and as such, we could legally take possession of you any time."

Nathan's heart sank at that. "Should I go pack my stuff?"

"I said we **could**, not that we **would**. It's been determined that this is the best place for you, at least for the next few years. Once you're a little older and have better control of your powers, though . . . you just might come work for us." She smiled, and it made Nathan smile, too. He walked her downstairs, to the door, and said goodbye to her there. "It was nice meeting you."

"You too, Nathan. Oh, I have something for you." She went to her black SUV and brought back a small box. "Phil had this set aside for you. He would want you to have it."

Nathan opened the box, which was plain white and unwrapped. Inside, sitting on a bed of white cotton, was a small round object. He picked it up and looked at it.

It was a tiny replica of Captain America's shield.

"Pride of his collection," she said. "It's a pin. If you had a lapel, I could pin it on for you . . ."

"I'll wear it to his funeral."

"So you're going after all?"

"If that's okay."

She nodded. "I'll call you and arrange for a pickup. Probably some time next week. Is there any problem with you missing class?"

"I don't go to the high school like the other kids do. I'm kind of homeschooled, except in a real school. I'm ahead in everything anyway. So it won't hurt if I miss a day."

"Okay, then. I'll call you." She got in the SUV and drove away. Nathan went back inside, and nearly ran into Riley in the front hall.

"You're happy," she said. "Not reading you, it's just that obvious. What about, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Lots of things. I'm staying here. And I saw my dad. On a screen, though—it was through Skype."

The girl nodded. "He's in New York?"

"Yeah, but he goes back to India tomorrow. He said there's something he has to take care of, and then he'll be back. And maybe I'll see him in person. And I'm going to a funeral."

"That's happy? Who died?"

"Agent Coulson, who used to come see me. But I'm happy cause I've got a new friend. She's nice."

"I'm glad. Hey, you want to go see what's on TV?"

"Sure." Another reason for him to be happy: he and Riley were friends now.

He wasn't alone anymore. He wasn't that mindless creature who lived in a cage. He was a person. He had family, he had friends, and he was in the safest place possible for him.

He couldn't imagine right now that his life could get any better, but it was about to.

But for now, it was enough to sit with Riley and a few of the other kids, and watch _Criminal Minds _reruns. And if somehow, he without meaning to managed to slide down to the other end of the couch so that he was sitting next to her . . . that was okay, too.


End file.
